


2/4

by Isagel



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dirty Talk, Multi, OT4, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagel/pseuds/Isagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You never sleep well when they are not here," she says. "It makes you unfocused."</p>
            </blockquote>





	2/4

“You are distracted,” Teyla says, taking a step back and twirling her sticks, giving him a second to breathe as he shakes the pain of her hit out of his arm.

He doesn’t bother with an answer, but goes on the offensive instead, lunging at her with a sweep of his right stick aimed at her neck.

She ducks easily, a smooth, rolling motion that makes the stick pass with a swoosh of air above her head, and comes at him again.

“You never sleep well when they are not here,” she says. “It makes you unfocused.”

She’s right, of course, although he hates that she can tell. Hates it more that his body can’t accept what his mind knows - that Ronon and Rodney are perfectly safe off-world with the Kurenos, trading McKay’s technical knowledge for natural resources; that they’ll be home again in just a few more days, exactly as scheduled. Hates that he’s become so used to sharing a bed with all three of them that he keeps waking up at night, feeling the empty stretch of mattress behind him, between himself and Teyla, like a missing limb; that the emptiness is still there around the two of them when they reach for each other.

He parries her assault with his own sticks, but only at the price of losing his balance, and Teyla is not an opponent who'll let that pass. Her kick is perfectly aimed, sweeping his feet out from under him before he has a chance to center himself.

“Not to mention what it does to your reaction time,” she points out, following as he falls to the floor, grabbing his arm to twist behind his back, her bare knee digging into his spine, holding him down. She presses her sticks, both in one hand now, across the back of his neck, demanding surrender, and he lets his body go limp, showing that she has it.

That should be her cue to let him up, but instead she leans forward, her weight settling more firmly on top of him, her hair falling like a curtain in front of his face as her breath brushes his ear, glittering red-gold in the sunlight that streaks the floor.

“Is it simply that you miss them,” she asks, “or is it that you need them to help you relax?” Her lips dip close enough to skim the shell of his ear, her voice dragging like a caress along the edge of it. “I would offer to guide you in meditation, but what you truly need is to be fucked, is it not? Filled and filled again until there is no room for your own thoughts.”

 _Christ._ His breath catches, sharp in his chest like a stab, his exhale too loud in the quiet room. He feels Teyla’s body on top of him rise and fall with the uneven rhythm of it.

“Hey, just because you miss Ronon's cock,” he bites back at her, turning the accusation around. It’s certainly the truth - he’s seen the expression on her face when she takes Ronon inside her enough times to know that size is definitely not irrelevant.

She gives a huff of laughter, warm in his ear, shifting not off him, but to straddle his hips, the leather folds of her skirt parting around him as she settles the soft curve of her ass against his.

“And you do not?” she says. “I would think you long for little else right now than to be on your hands and knees for him, have him so far down your throat that you can barely find air, parting your legs for Rodney to take you from the other end. Yes…” Her fingers, still holding the bantos sticks, stroke against the nape of his neck, and he shivers, his hips grinding down into the thin mat on the floor. “Yes, I imagine you would like that.”

She replaces the sticks with her mouth, wood clattering to the ground somewhere off to the right, her lips and tongue and teeth skimming along the collar of his t-shirt, tasting the skin just behind his ear. He feels her breasts press between his shoulder blades, the soft heat of her pussy drag against the small of his back through their clothes.

“Or perhaps,” she continues, “what you want is to be inside me while Ronon takes you. Pinned between us, his every thrust driving you into me, as far in as you can go. Rodney lying beside us on the bed, his mouth and hands drifting from you to me and back again.”

It’s ridiculous, that he ever let this woman fool him with her warrior zen routine into thinking she was pure and above stuff, when in fact she has the dirtiest mind of anyone he’s ever met. But the thing is, even like this, she _is_ zen. Her voice is as calm and clear as if she were instructing him in meditation techniques, and it’s the serenity, more than anything else, that has him panting, has him writhing beneath her to ease the pressure of his growing hard-on wedged against the floor. He knows her well enough by now to feel her lust in the way she moves against him, but it’s the perfect, centered Teylaness with which she expresses it that drives him up the fucking wall. The contrast that isn’t a contrast at all.

“Teyla,” he says, and it comes out a whine, a plea, although he isn't really sure what he’s asking.

“Yes,” Teyla says, though, as if she does know. She lets go of his wrist and pulls herself off him, lifting up on her knees so that he has room to move between them. “Turn around.”

He does, pressing a palm to the floor and flipping himself over in the tight space between her thighs. His hipbone brushes her groin as he rolls, and she lets out a low hiss that settles like a weight in his balls. She's beautiful above him, flushed from their sparring, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her neck and chest, gathering thicker in the dark space between her breasts. He thinks of licking her there, but she moves before him, reaching for the elastic on his sweatpants and yanking them down, yanking his underwear down with them, just far enough to expose his cock. She presses herself against him, rubbing her pussy along the length of him. The cotton of her panties is already moist.

“You would come so hard, John,” she says, “would you not? Ronon splitting you open, my wet cunt so tight around you. I bet you would not even know where one sensation began and the other ended. Too lost in us to feel the distinction between filling and being filled.” She doesn’t even bother to get up and take her panties off, simply pushes the fabric to the side and sinks down on him, her hand holding him steady until she finds the right angle and all it takes is a push for him to slip all the way inside. Her eyes drift closed for a moment, her expression softening into a private smile as she rolls her hips, rolling him inside her like favorite candy on the tongue, wanting the taste to linger everywhere she can make it reach, but she doesn’t stop talking. “One with us,” she says. “With everything. Feeling all our heartbeats in your body as I feel yours now.”

She is suddenly too far away, and he reaches for her, his hands bracketing her ribcage, pulling her down. She catches herself with her hands against the floor on either side of his head, the change of angle making them both gasp, and she smiles again; a naughty, hungry, tender smile that dances in the brown of her eyes when she meets his gaze. She moves, her hips setting a rhythm, and he lets himself move with it, pushing up as she pushes down. It’s deep and thorough, the pleasure rising, falling, rising higher, a soaring spiral winding tighter on every turn. Teyla’s breath is hot against his face, and he licks his lips, tasting it.

He slides his hands forward, over the swell of her bosom, tugging at the laces on her top until the well-worn leather falls open, her breasts tumbling out to sway with her movements, heavy and full. He cups them in his palms, pressing up to squeeze them, and her rhythm stutters, his cock jerking hard inside her in response as her muscles tighten down around him. He drags his thumb over the dark peaks of her nipples, and she moans, her head dropping low between her arms, the ends of her hair tickling the side of his neck. He twists her nipples in his fingers, harder than he would ever dare if he didn’t know her, know the cues of her body so very well by now. She lets out a loud, shuddering breath, and jerks her right hand down to touch herself between the legs, the tips of her fingers brushing the base of his cock before they settle on her clit, rubbing quick, determined circles he can almost feel inside her.

“Do you know which part I like best, John?” she says, and his mind flounders for a second before he realizes that she’s back to the scenario she was describing before, that she’s never left it. “I like afterwards, when you have spent yourself inside me, when Ronon has grabbed your hips and pulled you out of me, and I can... _Ancestors._ ” She shudders, head to toe, so close now that he can feel her inner walls trembling, and he rolls her nipples against the pads of his thumbs, fucks up into her faster. “And I can turn over and watch as he keeps fucking you, holds your head down into the mattress with his hand huge on the back of your neck and keeps going, hard and relentless and, John, the look on your face…”

 _“Fuck,” he breathes, and he can goddamn _feel_ it, the pleasure-pain of being taken after he’s already come, the way it’s almost unbearable, the way he’d give anything for Ronon to never stop._

Their fucking has grown wild, erratic, lurching headlong towards a finish they neither of them want to hold back, Teyla’s voice ragged now when she speaks, low and breathless with sex and lust.

“I am so wet with your juices that there is no friction at all when Rodney slides inside me, his chest against my back, and I know he is watching you as well, as he bites at my neck, strokes down between my legs, and I am coming again before he is even fully inside, trembling with it, seeing Ronon slam into you over and over, your ass stretched impossibly wide around his cock.”

His every cell alive with it, lost to it, to the fullness of Ronon inside him, to the sounds and sight of Rodney and Teyla moving together.

He closes his eyes, drowning in the image - half fantasy, half memory, as close to both as to not quite be either - falling into the wet heat of Teyla’s body, the softness of her breasts in his hands.

Teyla leans lower, her mouth to his ear, her voice a whisper, under his skin. Inside him deeper than his flesh is inside her.

“Rodney would talk to you,” she confides. “He would tell you that you are a slut for it, a slut for Ronon’s big dick fucking you raw.” And this, this is Rodney’s choice of words, at once incongruous and at home in Teyla’s steady alto. Startling and perfect. “Show me how right he is, John. Show me what a greedy slut you are.”

The orgasm pushes through him like a wave, displacing everything he is as though there isn’t room enough inside his skin for sensation and emotion to fit. He can’t breathe, his lungs compressed with the force of it, can only cling to Teyla as she follows him through, her climax a wordless mewl in his ear that makes his ear-drum rattle. Beautiful, and he lifts a hand to cup the back of her neck, holding her as she quivers above him, her hand frantic between them, chasing every last strand of pleasure while he softens inside her.

When in the end she stills, she presses a tired kiss to the edge of his jaw and lets her weight settle on top of him, a warm, boneless blanket. The floor is getting hard beneath him, but he wraps his arm around her back, encouraging her to settle in.

“I wish they were home already,” she tells the crook of his neck, and he squeezes her a little tighter, wishing with her.

A stupid thought flutters through his head, and for some reason he feels compelled to say it out loud.

“I’m…you know…” His hand makes a sweeping gesture above the small of her back, before landing again where the leather of her skirt meets sweat-dampened skin. “A slut for you, too.”

Teyla laughs, a rich, delighted, breathtaking sound that travels in vibrations up his arms, through his body down into the floor of the room, echoing against the stained glass of the window, out along the walls of the city. It strikes him that she hasn’t laughed like this since they’ve been alone.

“Oh, John, I know,” she says. “I do know.”

The strength of affection in her voice unwinds something tight in his chest.

He holds her like that, on the warm, sun-dappled floor, for a long stretch of time. It’s possible that they both sleep a little.


End file.
